


The Name of Honor

by ellebeedarling



Series: After All This Time [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Fluff, Language, Tattoos, gay Shepard, skyllian blitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9635864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebeedarling/pseuds/ellebeedarling
Summary: Set during the Skyllian Blitz - Shepard and his best friend take shore leave on Elysium, little knowing that the batarians are planning a raid.**Shepard was that dork.The dork that knew that Elysium was named after a place from Greek mythology that the dead passed through before making it to the underworld – the Elysian Fields.**Part of a series, but I think you can get enjoy this fic as a stand alone (there are only a couple tiny references to the other story, however.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FallingOverSideways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingOverSideways/gifts).



> So, I was talking to FallingOverSideways and we got to going on about John and his tattoos and his dorky ways, thus this little ficlet was born. Therefore, it is dedicated to her, who has been super supportive of me and my Someone to Love story! 
> 
> It turned out a little more angsty than I was going for, but I hope everyone enjoys!! 
> 
> I rated it M for language and brief mentions of sex/nudity. Possibly overkill, but there is a fair amount of language, so...

_Elysium, 2176_

 

Shepard was _that_ dork.

 

The dork that knew that Elysium was named after a place from Greek mythology that the dead passed through before making it to the underworld – the Elysian Fields. Not because he'd read it in the brochure, but because he liked to read Homer. He was the dork that sat in a sunny spot on the snow covered world reading Shakespeare's Julius Caesar instead of at least trying to learn to ski with his friend.

 

Richards had already scoped out a cute ski instructor for him, promising him that he was gay and available. John had waved him off, put on an extra sweater, procured a thermos of coffee, and headed for the sun-drenched patio for some spectacular views and some quality alone time with an actual hardback copy of Julius Caesar that had cost him half a month's salary. Not like he had anyone to spend that money on anyway.

 

He loved books. Datapads were all well and good, but nothing could replace the feel of a book in his hands, the crisp rasp of turning pages, and that smell that was just so... intoxicating. Several times Richards traipsed over to him, slogging his way through the thick snow awkwardly with his stupid skis on. Each time, he all but begged Shepard to give the skiing a chance. If not the skiing, then at least Enrique, the ski instructor. “Hell, if I were gay, I'd do him,” Richards said stupidly.

 

“Be my guest,” John told him. Enrique was cute – he'd give Richards that much, but something felt so pathetic about his friend trying so desperately to get him laid. As if he couldn't find his own damn date! He scoffed and buried his nose further into the book, peeking over the top as Richards skied away with a blonde woman. Sighing, he focused on the book again.

 

On the second night, he let Richards talk him into going to get drinks with Enrique, despite his better judgment. He should have gone with his gut. Enrique was hot – dark hair and eyes that Shepard could see himself getting lost in, and a bright smile that had his blood pumping. But for the love of Christ, the man was dumb as a post, and John spent most of the night downing tumblers of bourbon just to occupy his mouth enough to keep from blurting out the things that were running through his mind at any given moment. That back fired in a major way because, one minute he was sitting there guzzling bourbon like water, and the next he was naked in his hotel room with an equally naked ski instructor wrapped around him.

 

At least the sex had been decent.

 

The next day, Shepard avoided the ski slopes like the plague, taking his copy of Julius Caesar into town to find a cafe to while away the hours. It was Act II, Scene I, and Brutus was busily pacing in his garden when the colony's alarms began blaring, signaling that they were under attack. Didn't it just fucking figure that something like this would happen when he was here. He raced back to his hotel room as fast as his legs would carry him, meeting Richards on the way, and the two marines donned their armor quickly, with hands steadied by experience.

 

They met up with the colony's security forces at the edge of town. Batarians. Of course it was fucking batarians. They were endlessly harassing human colonies on the edge of Alliance territory. Slavery was illegal in Council space, but that didn't apply to batarians. After spend the majority of his life as little more than a slave to Big Tommy and the Reds, he had zero fucking tolerance for this shit.

 

Shepard had always favored a pistol – even back in his gang banging days. They were small and light and easily concealed, and if you modded them enough they could be as powerful and accurate as a rifle. Besides reading, tinkering with his pistol was nearly his favorite pastime. The captain of city's security forces was obviously scared shitless, so Shepard let his training take over, dividing the troops into four squads and sending them to cover every direction. Richards was sent east, one of the security Sergeants west, the Elysian captain north, and Shepard went with the group heading south. The squad leaders were instructed to keep in radio contact, and Shepard unholstered his pistol, ready to send these bastards into hell.

 

He always felt a little ashamed of the satisfaction he got out of killing people who deserved it. That was rather subjective after all. And really, who the hell was he to think that those decisions belonged to him, but he'd been trained to make those choices. This one dies, so that one can live, and he'd be damned if he let these fuckers take an innocent person and force them into slavery. It wasn't going to happen. His pistol went off with a loud pop, bullet striking home deep between the batarian's double set of eyes, and the thing dropped to the ground only to have another spring up to take his place.

 

There was no concept of the passage of time now. Some part of his brain registered that it had been hours. He'd only lost two of his squad to enemy fire, but they were all weakening. Even Shepard. He'd run out of his protein packs that would keep his biotics going, he wouldn't be able to use them much longer. Not without sustenance. The city's security forces weren't conditioned to fight like this for such extended periods of time. Hell, Shepard was trained and conditioned, and his energy was flagging. Why in hell the Alliance didn't have a battalion garrisoned here, he would never know, but those troops would come in real fucking handy right about now.

 

Richards hollered in pain into his comm. “Shepard, we're being fucking overrun here, and I'm hit.”

 

“How bad?”

 

The silence carried on just a beat too long, and Shepard's heart sank. “Bad,” Richards said at last.

 

“On my way.”

 

“Negative, Shepard. Stay the fuck there.”

 

“Richards, we don't have enough men for you to fucking take one for the team. I'm on my way.”

 

Shepard hadn't realized how strained his friend's voice was until he spoke again. “John... I'm not going to make it,” his breathing had become labored straining to pull oxygen into his lungs.

 

“Goddammit Terrance... stay with me!”

 

“Shepard...” His voice was fading, and John was torn between being with his friend as he passed from this life into the next and keeping his ass in position to take out more of these assholes. In the end, he knew his duty, and stayed put. Terrance would hate him if he abandoned his post for something as fucking sentimental as holding his friend's hand while he died. “Not... afraid to die... what's that quote you like so much?”

 

“I love the name of Honor more than I fear death,” Shepard whispered.

 

“Yeah... that one... it's true, you know... Shep... tell... my mom... love her...”

 

“Yeah... anything you want T,” he croaked. A panicked voice broke the silence, informing him that his friend was dead. He wanted to weep, to mourn his friend. He had precious few of those in this world. Terrance Richards had been one of the first people in the squad to befriend him. The two of them had hit it off right away – thick as thieves their commander always said. Instead of letting his grief take over, he channeled that into rage, and his biotics flared to life, blasting the next wave of batarians, sending them sailing in all directions.

 

Richards was dead, but the batarians kept coming. So Shepard kept fighting. By the time the Alliance finally showed up, he could barely keep his head up, yet still he fought. He fought for Terrance, for the others who had died defending their homes. He wasn't about to let them down, wasn't going to let these bastards win.

 

**

 

It had been one hell of a celebration.

 

The whole damn town had turned out for the awards ceremony. Admiral Hackett himself came to pin the Star of Terra onto Shepard's breast, but he couldn't find it within himself to be happy about the stupid thing. At least they'd awarded Richards one posthumously. His mom had come to receive it on her son's behalf, then she'd buried her face in Shepard's chest and cried her eyes out, smearing lipstick and mascara all over his uniform.

 

He met Captain Anderson. The man was the most promising soldier to come up through the ranks since Hackett himself, and there were whispers saying that Shepard was the most promising soldier after Anderson. He always shrugged off shit like that. True or not wasn't for him to decide. He'd made a promise to Corporal Fields to do his best and try his hardest, and he damn well intended to keep that promise.

 

Anderson and Hackett offered to take Shepard out for dinner. He supposed it would be rude to decline, so he'd gone, pretending not to see Enrique the ski instructor on the other side of the hotel restaurant, dining with another of the hotel patrons. Good riddance. The night passed somewhat awkwardly. He was never much for lively conversation, and he just didn't have the emotional energy to feign interest in this right now. It wasn't until Anderson asked him how he felt about giving N training a shot that he really perked up and started participating in the conversation. When the meal was finished, Shepard thanked and saluted both men then headed to the front desk of the hotel to ask directions to a good tattoo parlor.

 

He didn't have a ton of tattoos. Of the ones he had, he mostly regretted them, but this was something important to him. Richards had been a good friend to him – one of the best he'd ever had – and he wanted to do something to honor him, even if he were the only one who knew it was there.

 

Settling into the chair, he removed his shirt and tucked his arm behind his head. Thirteen souls had died defending the colony of Elysium. Richards' quote was tattooed along his right rib cage – in stark opposition to the gang kills tally marks on the left side – _I love the name of honor more than I fear death_. The number thirteen went underneath it, the lives of those lost memorialized on his skin, because he knew that the events of that day had changed him. Just as the ink on his body was indelible, so was the impact of what happened on this colony. For better or worse, he would be marked by it, shaped by it.

 

The sting of the needle was nothing compared to the sting in his heart, the hollow space where his friend should have been. But if he'd learned nothing else in his twenty two years, he'd learned that loss and pain were inevitable, that friends were few and far between, and to take the chances when they arose.

 

A week later he received his recommendation for Interplanetary Combatives Training in Rio de Jainero, and it was a chance he was willing to take.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written something in a couple hours and then posted it on the same day, but I made an exception for this. If there are glaring holes or typos, I apologize! 
> 
> Title and words for Shepard's tattoo are a quote from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Much love,  
> Elle


End file.
